Namesake
by BlueSaber
Summary: A ficlet looking at one of Star Wars' newest characters: the son of Skywalker...Ben Skywalker, that is. Completed August 7th.
1. Autograph Incident

Hello there. Thank you very much for clicking. This will be a three part ficlet, looking at one of the newest characters in the Star Wars Expanded Universe, the son of Luke Skywalker, Ben. I hope you enjoy. This is my first fic so please be as kind as possible. Feedback of any kind is much appreciated.

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me, but to the Great Bearded One, George Lucas. Though a million fanboys and fangirls across the globe wish it were otherwise….

**Namesake**

"Ben Skywalker?"

"Hmmm?" I look up from my lunch and blink my eyes against the bright sunlight, barely able to keep them open. It seems as if these days it's getting harder and harder to get a good night's sleep. But sleep is overrated anyway. Probably. I hope.

A young girl, maybe ten or eleven, stands before me, watching me with gray eyes that betray her nervousness. Otherwise, she appears calm and collected, an impenetrable façade of Jedi perfection.

When she continues to stare at me without saying anything, I sigh inwardly and set my plate down. I run a hand through my hair and then decide it's up to me to get this conversation going and over with as quickly as possible. It is, after all, my lunch break. And Jedi need to eat too.

"What can I help you with?" I almost add "kid" at the end—a habit I picked up from my "disreputable" Uncle Han—but stop short, unsure of how she'll take that.

"Please sir," and I nearly crack up at the title, but manage to hold it in for her sake, "could you sign this?"

And she pulls a long rolled sheet out from behind her back, making me wonder how in the Force I missed that in the first place. I take it cautiously and open it slowly, glancing up at her for a moment in curiosity. I blink in surprise as I see an old Galactic Empire recruit poster staring up at me. Unlike most recruit posters of old however, this one has been thoroughly slashed over with a red marker and the tagline "THE EMPIRE WANTS YOU!" has its last two words crossed out. Written in their place, are the witty words, "IS DEAD".

As I continue to study the artifact, I notice that in addition to being defaced, pictures of different leaders are posted all around the Stormtrooper that is the poster's main graphic. They are the so-called "Heroes of Old". Rebel Alliance and New Republic leaders alike stare out, some grimly, some emotionlessly, and some courageously.

One of the pictures, I note ironically, is me. I try not to cringe when I see it's the one where my mother insisted I wear my Jedi dress robes and slick my hair back. My gaze betrays no cognizant thought and in fact, at best, could be described as "dead". Not one of my better ones, I have to admit.

I notice a black mark on my face and reach out to brush it off before I realize that it's writing. I blink and put the poster back at arms' length, noticing for the first time a handful of signatures scattered around the photographs. The scribbling includes autographs from Rogue Squadron, my twin cousins Jacen and Jaina Solo, my Uncle Han (well, that was no surprise), my "Uncle" Lando (even less of a surprise), each relatively next to their photos, respectively.

"What is this? What's it for?" I finally stammer out, astonished at the audacity, originality, and bizarreness of this project.

The girl blushes. "It's my brother's." She looks up at me from underneath her bangs and then gets the story out in one long breath. "Or at least, it's going to be. He's obsessed with the Jedi and all the heroes and stuff. He wanted to be a Jedi, but he can't."

I nod encouragingly. A jealous sibling. Boy can I sympathize with that.

"So when I left to become one, he got mad at me. So I'm getting this for him." She finishes and looks at me anxiously.

"Oh." I say, the wheels in my head turning. It's a sweet gift in a way. Her brother had probably dreamed his whole life of being able to wield the Force and fight off evil, only to find out he was ordinary, and that his sister would get a shot at glory, but he wouldn't.

"So…" I say, as my thoughts stop meandering and come back abruptly to the present situation. "You really want my signature?"

She nods eagerly, eyes shining. "Please?"

I blink yet again. "Okay," I say as I pull out a pen and start to sign my name back a picture that practically screams my ineptness.

"But I'm not really a hero." I add as I hand back the poster to her.

A huge smile breaks out on her face and she looks awestruck.

"You are too a hero!" She protests. "You're a Skywalker. Thank you so much!"

And she skips away, the happiest Jedi in the galaxy.


	2. Astromech Advice

Hello again! Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, and indeed, anyone who read this little story at all. **Dovasary**, thank you for adding this to the story alert list and being my first reviewer on this site ever. You couldn't have broken me in any gentler.

As promised, here is part two of this three part ficlet. For those who are not familiar with the Expanded Universe, Ben Skywalker is the child of Luke Skywalker and his wife Mara Jade Skywalker, as outlined in the book series the New Jedi Order. He's a relatively new character, but I thought I'd take a shot as his characterization. For those who have read the entire EU books, go easy on me, I'm only on _Star by Star_ so far.

Criticism and reviews are much appreciated. I've now turned off the anonymous review blocker. Heh, heh.

Disclaimer: Same. It's George Lucas' and not mine. Bummer.

Later, on my way to visit my dad and R2, I am still pondering the meaning of the whole autograph incident. To me, it doesn't seem right that I should be thought of as a hero just because of my last name. Or, because of my first name, a nickname of an old Jedi who was so many things on so many different levels.

I haven't done anything to deserve any of this—admiration or disgust.

Well, maybe I have done a few things to deserve the disgust part. But probably only from my mother.

The point is, the name is known the galaxy over, mostly because of my famous father, but also because of my infamous grandfather. How does one escape that?

"SKYWALKER!"

I jump and automatically turn as a rough voice I know so well suddenly shouts (in livid fury) out the very name I've been pondering. It takes me a moment to realize that her attention is not focused on me however, as her green eyes are blazing fire at my dad's quarters, which I am rapidly approaching.

I shake my head and stop in my tracks, unnoticed by my determined and furious mother. You'd think after all these years she'd stop calling dad by his last name—because of course, it's hers now as well. But old habits die hard I guess. Proof being that mom still hides knives up her sleeves and that dad still tinkers with that _ancient_ X-wing.

The door to my dad's office opens up and a familiar astromech droid rolls through, beeping happily. He pauses a moment as he spies my mother—still stalking furiously in my general direction—and then, recognizing her famous temper (somewhat tamed but still present in the now Jedi Master) quickly rolls to the left, and straight into me.

"Ouch," I mumble as R2 beeps indignantly at me, drawing himself up on two legs and wobbling back and forth in a very human way in frustration.

"Sorry," I look pointedly at him. "But I'm trying to avoid her as much as you are."

R2 keens his agreement. And putting down his third leg again, he trundles over to my side, perhaps curious in some strange droid-like way, to see what transpires.

I hear my dad's voice from inside the room for only a second before my mother enters the office and the door slams shut behind her. The voice sounds innocent—too innocent, and I roll my eyes. They're going to have one of their bickering matches again. No doubt dad touched something in her ship without her permission, or something as trivial as that.

A curious whistle brings me out of my reverie and I turn to consider R2 curiously. The droid's been in the family so long it's almost odd to think of him as just that: a droid. It's also odd to think that most species have trouble deciphering his language, even though it's only been after years and years of listening carefully that my dad and I can pick up any differences in the series of beeps and whistles.

Still, I decide to hazard a guess at R2's line of questioning.

"No it wasn't that important," I say to him. "I just needed to ask him a question. I guess I'll just go mediate on it now."

R2-D2 beeps and his domed head swivels back and forth. A "no"? I frown.

"Really R2, it's okay," I try again, but this time R2 rocks back and forth and whistles so loudly that I cringe and look around to see if anyone else has noticed the spectacle.

"Okay, okay," I put up my hands in mock surrender and settle myself down on the floor in the corner. "What is it then?"

R2 immediately quiets down and then beeps in a careful manner. I frown and then relax, stretching out with the Force to help guide me to what R2's really saying.

_Tell me._

"Tell you?" I blurt without thinking. Then I stop and think about it. Well, why not? R2's as good a listener as any, and a much wiser droid than many in the galaxy could ever hope to be. And, as my dad once said, he wouldn't give up that little droid for anything in the galaxy. They'd been through too much together.

I shrug. "Sure, if you don't mind?"

R2 beeps willingly.

And so I tell him about the little girl requesting my autograph and how that's unsettled me, made me think about how I'm famous—but only by proxy. Famous not of my own account, but because of my father, and his father before him. Because of my crazy once assassin mother, my one time smuggler uncle, and ex-Supreme Chancellor aunt. Not to mention my cousins, one who achieved fame and immortality through a war-sacrifice death.

"It's not that I'm resentful R2," I say at one point when R2 seems to warble indignantly. "Or that I'm not proud of my heritage. But it's hard always living up to the dream-legend of Luke Skywalker, you know?"

I continue on before R2 can give any type of reply. "I guess I just feel like…like it's all been done. And I don't deserve to be lauded for something I haven't done."

I sit back for a moment and digest it all in. My father is a hero and I am not. I'm just a regular Jedi who's done a couple of missions and is still in-training. I haven't fought in any wars, rescued any people, or even built a lightsaber. My father has never pressured me, but I feel the urge within me to hurry, hurry, hurry, catch up to the legacy that precedes me. No matter what the cost.

_Bzzzzzzz._

_Yeouch!_ "Ahhhh!" I cry out and draw my hand away from R2's arm, which has just given me a mild shock. I swear and pull it away, rubbing at the slight burn mark.

"What was that for?" I snap at the droid, staring at him resentfully.

R2 simply and calmly pulls his arm back into his compartment and beeps a response that I translate instantly and inexplicably through the Force.

_You know._

I scowl and start to say something more, and then stop, realizing R2-D2 is right. It's not going to do any good to sit around and feel sorry for myself just because I'm not a hero. It doesn't mean I'm not somebody.

R2 whistles happily at me as I realize what he's done and then beeps again in elation as the door to my dad's office flies open and my mother comes out with a very satisfied look on her face. Despite years of this, I feel a little bit worried for my dad. But only for a moment.

"Ben," my mom is surprised as she notes us in the corner and her eyes narrow suspiciously when she sees me rubbing my hand. "Are you okay?"

I stand up quickly and pat R2 on the head. He trundles off to complete some task, whistling happily, his mission here done.

"Sure. I was just talking to R2 and thinking," I add, grinning at her.

My mom snorts, "Your father, you, and that droid. You spoil him so."

I shrug. "Is dad busy?" I ask, trying to touch her through the Force to see if she's still angry.

She smiles calmly at me. "No, I don't believe he is. Why don't you see for yourself?"

I sigh. My mother is way too happy with herself. She's told dad off or something. "Okay."

"See you later son," she says sweetly, ruffling my hair before she practically skips off. _The Emperor is rolling in his grave_, I think ruefully to myself as the former Hand begins to whistle.

And I head into the still open room to talk with my father.


	3. Defining Destiny

Hello! Thank you for clicking and/or reading. I apologize for the length in-between chapters—I'd like to blame writer's block, work, and real life in general. A special thanks to my reviewers as follows:

**Dovasary**: Thank you again for your kind review! Yes Luke and Mara are quite a couple aren't they? I hope I did them justice. To answer your question for any other curious minds, so far in the novels Ben is the only child. However, I figure that there will be another Skywalker baby along the way (at least I hope so)…even if I won't be featuring this hypothetical character here. At any rate, I enjoyed your story _Emotional Sacrifice_ very much and I'm looking forward to any new Star Wars gems you put out.

**Luvinna**: Thank you for reviewing! Yes, R2-D2 is awesome. One of my favorite "side" Star Wars characters. Truly under appreciated on the whole, I think. I'm glad you find the story humorous. I'm trying to keep it lighthearted without letting it slipping into utter silliness. Let me know how I did!

**Jas-TheMaddTexan**: Thank you!

**torgofan**: Thank you very much! Impressed by the first paragraph? Wow, you honor me. I hope you enjoy this last installment as well. Be honest with your review.

**Deaka**: Thank you very much! I'm glad you like Ben's characterization. Let me know if it's believable here as well. And keep up the good work with your own writing!

And that's really all I have to say, so here's the last part of this little story. If you have any suggestions/criticism/comments, please review! I'm also open to challenges/ideas/requests for new stories so let me know. Otherwise, thanks for the support with my first attempt.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to George Lucas. No, literally. _Everything._

"Dad?"

"Come on in Ben…watch out for the water," calls my dad's voice from somewhere back in his office.

I step in cautiously, avoiding one of several puddles of water lying all about my dad's office. I frown in confusion and look around for the source of the element. I blink in surprise and then sudden understanding when I see the broken water pipe—now twisted off so that no more water gushes out into the room.

I'm surprised there's not more of a flood in here. Though, as I look over the ruined holopads my dad possesses, I'm sure my mother more than made her point.

My dad chooses this moment to walk out from his back, more private conference rooms, rubbing his hair with a towel. He stops and sees me eyeing him curiously, a sheepish grin on his face.

"Dad," I say after a moment. "What did you do?"

"Nothing worth getting a water line dropped on my head," responds my dad, but there's no fooling me—after all, I've seen this sort of thing many, many times before— and I arch an eyebrow.

My dad grins. "Well, I may have, _may_ have mind you, upgraded your mother's lightsaber slightly. As a belated birthday present."

I shake my head in mock disbelief. "You didn't."

My dad nods solemnly, pulling on his "Jedi Master" persona so easily that I'm almost fooled by his next words. "She should know that pink is a very respectable lightsaber color for Jedi Masters these days."

A pause.

"_Pink?_ Dad, you're going to die…"

My dad shrugs good-naturedly as he takes a seat and begins to sort through his ruined work. "At least I'll die happy. And just imagine the look on your mother's face when she slices me in two—and my robe falls empty to the floor… "

I roll my eyes in exasperation. There's no winning with these people. How any of them managed to save the galaxy repeatedly is beyond me sometimes.

And then suddenly, as I make myself comfortable, my dad calms down a bit, reaching out with the Force to me. I respond in kind, and for a moment I join my signature with a grasping tendril of light that is only part of his presence and I immediately feel calmer.

My dad shakes his wet hair as he speaks further to me. "But you didn't come over here to check on your mother and father's eccentric relationship, I'm guessing. What is it Ben?"

I shrug slightly. "Well, it's not that big of a deal. But it's left me kind of…unfocused."

My dad raises an eyebrow. "Go ahead."

And so I relate my story again, realizing as I do that while R2 has—quite literally—shocked some sense into me, I am still searching for some resolution on the whole issue. Indeed, some resolution on my names, Ben and Skywalker. _What role does destiny have in store for mere namesakes?_

My dad is silent for a while after I finish my tale. I glance at the dripping Jedi Master and fancy that his hair has taken on a strange hue. I blink and shake my head, focusing slowly back on the issue as my dad finally speaks.

"That was a very nice thing to do for that girl Ben," my dad says approvingly and he tilts his head to the side quizzically. "But you're concerned about her—immediate approval of you?"

"Basically," I nod. "I told her I wasn't a hero—but she still insisted I was—because I was a Skywalker. And I felt…I don't know…sort of pressured…"

I trail off and hesitantly look up through my bangs at my dad wondering if he could possibly understand my dilemma.

"Well, I know your mother and I have told you this before Ben—but we don't expect any crazy heroics. In fact, we'd rather you didn't go rushing off to save the galaxy before you complete your training," my dad gazes at me intently.

"Yeah, I know, but I mean…" I fall silent for a moment as I struggle to gather my thoughts together. "When I do finally go off on my own, on my own missions and all that, how in the galaxy am I going to be able to live up to my names?"

"You don't have to live up to anyone, Ben," my dad says firmly. "We only expect that you follow the path the Force lays before you and that you do your best."

I blink. "But dad," And even I have to admit that my voice sounds somewhat whiny at this point. "People will keep bugging me until I do…they expect me to…well, to be you again, basically."

There's a spark in my dad's ice blue eyes that I could almost mistake for anger, except my dad doesn't give into anger easily. It's more like irritation. He rubs his eyes almost wearily and I feel instantly ashamed for the headache I'm probably giving him.

"Ben, it doesn't make any difference what people say or think you should be. And you certainly shouldn't be another me—your mother would go insane." He arches an eyebrow at me. "Think about it Ben. If your mother went by what everyone else thought my wife should be like, she'd wouldn't be herself—and by extension, she'd be very unhappy, which would spread misery all around."

I pause for a moment, thinking this through. Painful and annoying as it is, I have to admit my dad is right. There's always someone uppity who thinks Luke Skywalker's wife should have been different—usually _way_ different—than the fierce redhead my mom is. If the critics had their way, my dad would be married to some powerful politician or royalty. And that wouldn't suit him at all.

"And think about this as well Ben," my dad continues as my thoughts continue to race around in my head. "When your mother and I named you, we were hesitant to give you my old mentor's alias at first."

"Really?" Curiosity piques sharply in me.

"Yes." My dad pauses momentarily, eyes far off in some distant, hazy memory. Then they focus sharply and rest on me once again. "Especially me. I'd seen what kind of conflict resulted from your Aunt Leia naming her youngest after my father."

I wince a little. To be essentially named after Darth Vader…I begin to think that I have it relatively easy here.

"Your cousin Anakin was often worried that he had inherent evil in him, that just by being named after a man who became an evil Sith Lord—even the good side of that man—he was predestined to fall to the Dark Side."

"But he didn't succumb dad," I say hastily. I remember this part of the story well.

My dad nods at me. "No, he didn't. He did not let his name define him. Can you imagine what would have happened if he did?"

I shiver. Even if I haven't become a full Knight yet, I've seen the power of the Dark Side. And I've heard enough stories to have some idea of how powerful its seduction can be—and what pain and misery it can cause.

A sudden thought crosses through my mind and I freeze. What if dad had let his name—Skywalker—define him too? If he'd given up and joined my grandfather as a Sith? Considered it his inevitable destiny?

_And what if he had believed his old masters when they told him that Anakin Skywalker was irredeemable?_

The thought is an utterly new one. Up until now, I've kind of always taken my father's deeds for granted—it's just who he is, what he did. But, I realize suddenly, it didn't have to be that way at all. Things could have been a lot worse if my dad had listened to what everyone else said. I look up at my dad with newfound respect.

My dad continues on, oblivious to my breakthrough, "The point is Ben, we named you after Obi-Wan Kenobi to emulate and honor him. We certainly don't expect you to be my master's clone, but wanted to give you a starting point, a role model to look up to. And if you're anything like any of the Skywalkers or Solos—you'll certainly be your own man. And that's all we ask of you."

I blink again, mind racing at light speed in a way that would make Uncle Han proud. I don't have to be held down by my name. I have the freedom to be who I want, even a backwater planet farmer if I wanted, thanks to my family. _Why in the name of the Force are you whining Skywalker? _I scold myself.

There is still an uneasy part of me that I suspect will never truly go away. In truth, there's no way I can ever live up to the legacy of my names completely, at least, not in a way that will satisfy me. But I can establish my own life, at least, and do my best to make them proud. And perhaps it will be enough. A sort of peace settles deep within me and I smile proudly at my dad.

"Thanks dad. I hope I'll make you proud someday," I say fiercely.

My dad smiles at me without any "Jedi Master" reservations—he's just my dad. "You make me proud everyday son."

And the love shines through the Force so brilliantly I'm amazed that I don't go blind.

"Well," I say a moment later, looking away a little embarrassedly. "I'd better get back to my room. I promised mom I'd get it cleaned up before—"

I stop suddenly as I look back at my dad—looking at him closely for the first time since the conversation started. Disbelief and horror register on my face.

"What is it Ben?"

I stutter a little bit. "Dad…y-your hair!"

My dad blinks and then quickly reaches over for a ruined holopad, staring at his reflection in the blank screen.

His jaw practically hits the floor.

"Sithspit!" And now my jaw hits the floor as for one of the few times in my life, I hear my dad cuss. I imagine what the reaction of his peers would be. The words "heart attacks" and "multiple strokes" randomly float through my head.

"You like it Lukie, _dear_? I thought this shade might match your lightsaber color and make you more respectable, but I welcome your thoughts, since you seem to be such an expert on the matter."

I turn and see my mother leaning on the doorjamb of dad's office, a pleasantly wicked grin on her face.

"My hair is green!" My dad cries getting up with a disbelieving look on his face. "I have to teach three more classes today! _Mara_!"

My mom smirks. "Oh dear…how very inconvenient. Isn't it such a shame that that water pipe had such a nasty effect on your appearance dear? I do believe someone could have tampered with it!"

My dad gets up, eyes flashing and my mom strides over, meeting him halfway.

_Run, Ben, run!_

And I don't need to be told twice, as I pivot on my feet and bolt out the door—wanting to be fully intact for whatever destiny I create.


End file.
